“I’d worn the old leg pretty well off to the second jint, when, jest ’fore I made a lick, the noise of the boys and dogs cummin’ sorter confused bar, and he made a stumble, and bein’ off his guard I got a fair lick! The way that bar’s flesh giv in to the soft impresshuns of that leg war an honour to the mederkal perfeshun for having invented sich a weepun! I hollered—but you have heered me holler an’ I won’t describe it—I had whipped a bar in a fair hand to hand fight—me, an old, sickly, one-legged bar-hunter! The boys cum up, and, when they seed the ground we had fit over, they swore they would hav thought, ’stead of a bar-fight, that I had been cuttin’ cane and deadenin’ timber for a corn-patch, the sile war so worked up, they then handed me a knife to finish the work. “Doc, les licker, it’s a dry talk—when will you make me another leg? for bar-meat is not over plenty in the cabin, and I feel like tryin’ another!” XXIV. COLONEL CROCKETT’S RIDE ON THE BACK OF A BUFFALO. About ten years ago I fell in with a camp of Konzas, a good piece off the north fork of the Canadian. The Injuns a kyind a sorter give me a sorter tanyard grin, and the old chief specially puckered up his pictur like a green persimmon; but there were three raal roarers from Salt River with me, so I didn’t care a picayoon if it cum to skulpin. Besides I was tetotaciously tired, and I slepp so sound that I wish my rifle may hang fire for ever if I don’t think it would have took something rougher than an earthquake to wake me. So I lay till after daylite, and then one of me comrades shook me, to tell me the Injun boys had found a huraah’s neest. I took up old Kill-devil, and out I went, and about a hundred yards from the camp there war an old buffalo bull with a hundred little screeching imps about him, with their bows and arrows. They’d stuck so many arrows in him that he looked as thorny as a honey locus or a porky-pine; but they hadn’t got deep enough to touch the rite spot. First the old Turk would go arter one full chizzle; but then another would stick an arro into his posterity, saving your presence, and round he would turn and arter the little torment like an ate-horse baggage waggin. I railly pitied the old cretur, and sez I, “It are railly a shame to let this uncircumsised Fillistin defy the army of Israel in this ridiculous way. I’ll let him know there’s a warrant out arter him,” and I wur gwine to blaze away; but an old Injun kort me elbow, and axed me if it were the way in Kentuck to hinder the children from having a little dust of diversion that did no harm to no one. “Truth are the truth,” sez I, “if an Injun do speak it, and my sarvis to you for the complement.”